


Drifted

by fictionalcandie



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Community: kradamadness, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-23
Updated: 2011-02-23
Packaged: 2017-10-18 18:26:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/191891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionalcandie/pseuds/fictionalcandie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Kris stares up at Adam, unblinking, mouth agape. It’s like his daydream from earlier, only not a fantasy.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Drifted

Kris Allen is pretty boring. He’s on the baseball team, and he’s got a few friends, but mostly he’s just the dorky, kind of chubby, nice Christian boy most people don’t even notice. The ones who do notice, who usually remember his face if not his name, smile at him sometimes in the halls, and Kris never has to sit alone at lunch even if he doesn’t always talk to the people sharing his table.

But really, he’s pretty boring.

Absolutely the most interesting thing about Kris — probably the _only_ interesting thing, but it doesn’t matter really because Kris has never, ever even _mentioned_ it to _anyone_ , ever — is that he knows what Adam Lambert looks like with his black knit cap crooked on his ginger hair, snow in his eyelashes, a ruddy cold-flush on his freckled cheeks, and his lips parted in a startled gasp from when Kris landed on him.

That was last year.

This year, his and Adam’s circles are even further apart than they used to be, because not only are all Adam’s hot female friends on the dance team, they’re the seniors on the dance team, and some of them are on the cheerleading team as well, and suddenly his hair is pitch black and his freckles are gone and there’s black lining his eyes, making them seem bigger and bluer and Kris can’t even _look_ at him straight on anymore without blushing, terrified that Adam — the absolute _darling_ of the drama teacher, and the drama club, and anyone ever who is in any way related to drama — will notice and turn that bitchy, devastating smirk on him.

Kris can still remember lying on Adam in the snow, at the bottom of that ravine. It doesn’t exactly help him breathe around Adam, though.

—

To Kris, Adam is like a magnet. For his eyes, and his ears, but thank God, not his feet, because if Kris starts actually _wandering into_ Adam, he’s going to die of embarrassment. But watching Adam, and listening to Adam, and maybe sometimes paying more attention during assemblies to Adam, across the auditorium, than he does the principal? Yeah. Kris does all of that.

It sucks, because they’re so far apart in the world of high school hierarchy (well, on opposite sides of being ‘so in the middle, they might as well be insignificant to most of the student body’), and Kris is so not Adam’s type (in Kris’s opinion nobody at school is awesome enough to be Adam’s type, actually, because Adam deserves, like, rockstars and supermodels — yes, at once), and nobody even knows Kris is into boys anyway, and… it’s just impossible in just about any way Kris can think of, really.

He thinks of lots of ways. It’s actually kind of hard to stop.

—

Kris’s life is not a high school movie. If it were, he’d either be interested in one of Adam’s hot female friends (much and repeated masturbatory research wherein he’d tried to think of slender girl-legs and had them replaced in his head with Adam’s own long pair by the time he came, says he’s not), or he’d be the awkward un-made-up nerdy chick with the hopeless crush on popular Adam (well, the “un-made-up” and “hopeless crush” parts are true). Or maybe Adam would be the hot female (which, as Adam’s newer and improved tighter pants proclaim so loudly that he’s been called into the office over them _twice_ , Adam is decidedly not), though Kris is privately, reluctantly glad Adam isn’t — somehow it’s easier to be secretly pining for a boy than it would be to want the homecoming queen, or something.

After all, if it was just about a girl out of his league, Kris might be tempted to _tell_ someone. And his friends are great, sure, okay, but there’s no way they’d be able to resist embarrassing him with something like that, at every opportunity.

As for his feelings about Adam, Kris isn’t even tempted to let the secret out.

It maybe helps that Kris and Adam don’t share any classes, or after-school activities, or anything. They used to be on the same bus route, but then Adam moved across town and people started driving themselves to school, anyway.

Kris, he walks now, most days. Especially when it snows. His favorite way home involves a shortcut through the park, and his iPod on as loud as it’ll go, so he can think about that time last winter when Cale pushed him and he wound up on top of Adam for the one and only time in his life.

That’s probably why the snowball to his face, just as he’s passing the kiddie slide, takes him so completely by surprise.

Kris sputters and yanks at his earbud cord, pulling them out of his ears in time to hear the laughter of what is apparently half the jocks from the baseball, football and basketball teams, all crouched in the play towers like gremlins or gargoyles or something. Kris only knows, like, half of them.

“What the _heck_?” he demands, wiping snow off his cheeks and not thinking about little crystal flakes in strawberry-blonde lashes. “What was _that_ for?”

“Practice,” says Andrew DeRoberts, the guy who must’ve thrown the snowball at him, with a grin.

Kris doesn’t get it. He raises his eyebrows.

“Matt and Anoop heard Megan talking to her friends during homeroom,” says Kris’s friend Cale, dropping down from the monkey bars. “Apparently, like, every hot chick _ever_ at our school is meeting here this afternoon. Snow angels or something, man.”

“Right.” Kris still doesn’t get it, but that’s probably because he’s busy picturing the snow angel of Adam’s that he accidently ruined last year. “Which totally explains why you’re hiding up there throwing snowballs at _me_.”

“Practice, man, I told you!” insists Andrew, but he’s smirking, and besides that, Kris’d seen him last month with Brad Bell hanging off the front of his practice jersey (Kris didn’t really blame Brad; he’d wanted to get his hand on an ass or two in those football pants, too), so Kris isn’t sure he buys it.

“Whose brilliant idea was this ambush?” he asks, instead of responding to Andrew.

Pretty much everyone points to Danny Gokey — the football bench warmer, on whose ass Kris _does not_ want to get his hands — who smiles in a really smarmy fashion and waggles his eyebrows.

Kris wants to wash out his eyeballs.

“Okay,” he says, reaching to put his earbuds back in. “Well, have fun, I guess.”

Suddenly Andrew and Cale and several other guys are in front of Kris, blocking his way through the playground.

“No, c’mon,” Andrew is saying, as Tommy leans around Cale (who’s whining Kris’s name like it’s an olympic event) to give him a glare that’s probably supposed to be commanding but just comes off bitchy.

Kris takes his earbuds back out. “What.”

“You’ve gotta stay, man, it’s gonna be epic,” says Danny, still sitting at the top of a slide.

Kris is just about to tell them that he’s really not interested in being a part of this pending harassment (then he’s gonna go home and drop hints at his mama until she calls Katy’s or Allison’s mama to warn them), when Tommy and Andrew both announce too casually, “Oh, and Adam’s coming, too.”

“Yeah,” chimes Danny, sniggering, “who’d want to miss a chance to nail Lambert?”

Kris’s brain over-heats, it starts throwing up images of ‘nailing’ Adam so fast. He’s lucky steam isn’t coming out of his ears.

“Kris,” Cale whines again, into what might otherwise become an awkward silence. “Please, dude, it won’t be as fun if you haven’t got my back!”

“All right, fine,” says Kris, managing to avoid looking at any of the other boys as he agrees. “But I reserve the right to bail if I want.”

Cale grins. “Sure, sure, whatever,” he says, as several of the others crow happily.

—

Kris has one earbud in so he doesn’t have to talk to anybody, though he’s hoping nobody asks what he’s listening to (Lady Gaga, because he _likes_ her, _not_ because he heard Adam mention her to his friend as Kris passed them in the hall on the last day of junior year), when the kid sitting on the roof of the tallest play tower calls out “Yo, honeys in the parking lot!”

The half of the boys who’d been milling around on the ground, including Kris, bolt for the woods around the playground as if that had been their plan all along (maybe it had; Kris hadn’t actually asked).

Kris ends up farther back than the others, crouched behind a couple of big, close-growing trees near where it starts to get hilly. Most people don’t come back this far, where there’s no proper trail. Probably nobody would notice if Kris kept going, just snuck home and pretended, for the sake of not hurting Cale’s feelings, that he’d been around for the whole fight but everyone had miraculously missed his presence, and he almost does, almost says ‘screw this’ and beats it.

Except he thinks of Adam in the snow — this time black-haired and eyelinered, taller and even more sure of himself than ever — and Kris stays, like he’s taking lessons in being rooted from the trees.

Shrieks and squeals and peals of laughter erupt from the direction of the jungle gyms.

Kris shakes himself, makes sure his iPod is tucked away safely, and scrabbles some snow into a sloppy ball, just so he won’t look like so much of a moron if anyone does stumble out deep enough to see him.

Someone on the playground shouts something, about running, and there are more voices suddenly, crying “Get them, get them, don’t let them get away!”

And, “Under here, quick!”

And, “Faster!”

And, “Gotcha!”

It sounds like they’re getting farther away, like maybe some of the girls took off across the other side of the park. Kris is just thinking maybe he won’t need his snowball after all —

There’s quick, loud breathing getting closer.

Kris tenses.

Someone rounds the trees hiding Kris, and he throws before he recognizes them.

He misses completely, which is fine with him, because it’s Adam.

“Oh,” blurts Kris.

Adam stares for a second. Then abruptly he crouches, scooping up snow efficiently, gracefully winding up with his long arm and throwing.

The snowball hits Kris in the face, just like the last one someone threw at him.

“Hey!” Kris exclaims stupidly.

Adam is already making another one, his eyes wide and all his teeth showing. He, it seems, is much more confident in his aim than Kris is (he sucks, okay, even though he plays baseball. It’s like snow takes all the awesome out of his throwing skills), and his sights are set on Kris.

Great, he’s going to get trashed by his secret crush in a snowball fight that he didn’t even want to be part of.

Kris spins around and sprints deeper into the trees, Adam’s latest missile brushing his shoulder. He’s not surprised to hear Adam laughing at his ignoble retreat.

He is a bit startled when he realizes that Adam’s _following_ him.

The sounds of the other boys’ battle with the girls are starting to fade, but Kris keeps going and Adam does too, doggedly.

A couple of times Kris pauses and half-turns, flinging a loose fist of snow at Adam — which Kris is sheepishly aware is more flirtatious than it is discouraging — but it keeps ending with Adam laughingly unscathed and Kris batting snow out of his eyes so he can see to keep running.

Kris is enjoying himself. A lot.

Without warning, there’s something solid against his back, weight bearing him over, and because he and Adam are at the peak of a long, shallow slope, they’re both suddenly rolling pell-mell down a hill, snow in Kris’s face blinding him and Adam’s grunt of surprise in his ear.

They come to a stop at the bottom, fetching up against a fallen log, their legs tangled, half on top of each other, Adam’s chest pushing Kris’s into the snow drift.

Kris stares up at Adam, unblinking, mouth agape.

It’s like his daydream from earlier, only not a fantasy.

“Well,” Adam says breathlessly, after a moment. “We should maybe stop meeting this way.”

“You’re on top this time, though,” blurts Kris, which is when he realizes he hasn’t been breathing for a bit and drags air into his lungs before he does something (even more) mortifying like pass out.

“Don’t worry, snow-boy, your virtue’s safe with me,” Adam says wryly.

Kris’s cheeks flush. “Bummer,” he says, before he can think better of it.

Adam tenses for a fraction of a second, then he’s laughing, bright and startled. “Oh, god, you’re even more precious than I remembered,” he says, and then he’s leaning down slowly, his gaze darting tellingly between Kris’s eyes and mouth.

Like he’s going to kiss Kris.

Somehow, Kris has got a hand in that wild black hair that used to haunt his dreams even in all its ginger glory, pulling Adam down, and suddenly they really are kissing.

It’s awkward for a second, lips moving clumsily, noses bumping and teeth clacking, then it’s — it’s still uncertain and fumbling but it’s _fantastic_ , Adam’s mouth hot on his, their tongues sloppy between them. Adam’s got cold fingers on Kris’s face and Kris abandons Adam’s hair to shove both hands up under the back of that puffy jacket Adam always wears, tugging him close, touching skin and earning a startled gasp and a shiver.

Adam pulls back a little, and Kris whines, unable to he stop himself.

“This is okay, right?” says Adam. “I mean — please, god, say this is okay, Kris.”

Adam Lambert _knows his name_.

“Holy crap, yes,” says Kris fervently, and drags him back in.

They kiss and kiss, Kris’s head spinning, his fingers digging into Adam’s sides, Adam’s hand angling Kris’s head, holding it still.

A particularly loud noise from back by the playground has them suddenly jerking apart again, panting.

Adam’s lips are red and shiny, his eyeliner smudged.

“Holy crap,” Kris says again, dazed.

“This is officially my favorite way to run away from an ambush,” Adam declares, not looking much better than Kris feels.

Kris licks his lips, and could almost swear he still tastes Adam on them. “Why, uh, why were you? Running, I mean?”

Adam just looks at him, like his question doesn’t make enough sense.

“Shouldn’t you be back there, saving your girl friends from the big bad boys?” Kris prompts.

Adam blinks. Then he flushes, and moves like he’s going to clamber off of Kris.

“No!” Kris exclaims, grabbing Adam and yanking, with more force than was probably necessary, so that Adam slides even further on top of Kris than he was originally. They’re now totally chest-to-chest in their bulky coats, Adam’s pelvis a cold, denim-covered weight at Kris’s hip and one of Adam’s legs slipped between Kris’s thighs. “No, that’s totally not— I’m not _complaining_ , I just thought— Uhm. Yeah. Why?”

“Ice balls,” Adam says after a moment.

“What, now?”

“Ice balls,” repeats Adam. “As in, Gokey was throwing them at me. And I kinda like my face the way it is, with both eyes and an unbroken nose. And no scars.”

“I kinda like your face, too.” Kris licks his lips again and looks up at Adam through his lashes. “Freckles and everything.”

Adam swallows; Kris watches his throat move. Cold fingers — did Adam just not have gloves at all, like Kris? — trail down Kris’s cheek, then carefully trace his mouth.

“Speaking of faces,” says Adam, voice lowering, as the pads of his fingers brush back and forth over Kris’s lower lip.

Kris’s breath sort of… gets stuck in his throat. “Yeah?”

“Yours is…” Adam trails off, his head inching closer to Kris’s again.

“What?”

In answer, Adam kisses him.

Kris arches into it, instinctively pulling at Adam again, and Adam slides over so he’s lying totally on top of Kris, and the feel of his body above Kris has him pushing up with his hips before he can stop himself, grinding at Adam’s belly where the coat has ridden up and there’s only a thin shirt—

Adam gasps into Kris’s mouth, and the next thing Kris knows, Adam’s wedging his other leg between Kris’s until Kris is spreading them, lifting his knees and wrapping around until Adam is cradled, snug and close and hot even with the snow, against Kris’s pelvis. Kris is still trying to absorb that, mind whirling as with a dizzying kind of rush his cock fills the rest of the way so he’s fully hard in his pants, when Adam starts rocking down against him.

Adam’s hard, too, obviously so, and moving with a jerky, desperate sort of rhythm that isn’t steady or anything like it, but every single movement drags Kris’s jeans and briefs over his erection in— in— holy freaking crap— in seriously the most delicious way ever. It’s _awesome_ , it’s _better_ than awesome, better than Kris would have thought dry humping in the snow _could_ be (and oh, boy, has he ever thought about it), and it’s _Adam_ , on top of him and kissing him and acting like he wants it, really wants it, wants Kris and—

 _Holy shit_.

— Kris comes in his pants like a loser.

“Did you—?” Adam demands, something in his voice that makes Kris’s cheeks hot, and with a shuddering moan, Adam tenses and comes in his pants, too.

Maybe not so much like a loser, then.

Kris slides his hands all the way to Adam’s back, arms wrapping around him as Adam puts his head down next to Kris, who drops his head back into the snow, and they just… lie there and pant, for a bit.

Adam’s mouth is sloppy and wet on Kris’s cheek as he eventually laughs, breathily, in Kris’s ear. “God,” he gasps, “I am so glad I tripped and knocked us down that hill.”

Kris’s eyes are full of snow and bleak sky and ice-covered branches and Adam’s hair. He just nods.

He’s pretty freaking glad, himself.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this prompt](http://kradamadness.dreamwidth.org/43100.html?thread=4745820#cmt4745820) at kradamadness.


End file.
